


The Darkness in a Wandering Spirit

by NotAWerewolf42



Series: NotAWerewolf's One-Shots [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Halloween Event, Dark, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, Hurt, Hurt No Comfort, Parent Reinhardt Wilhelm, Witchcraft, this is not a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-15
Updated: 2018-10-15
Packaged: 2019-08-02 07:42:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16300898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotAWerewolf42/pseuds/NotAWerewolf42
Summary: There are many in the town of Aldersbrunn who speak of spirits in the forest. There are many names for these creatures: Ghost, ghoul, spirit, lost soul...banshee.A tale of Angela's partnership with a dark-minded spirit, as she seeks vengeance against those who hurt her.





	The Darkness in a Wandering Spirit

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Huntress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12855144) by [Mizu7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mizu7/pseuds/Mizu7). 



There are many in the town of Aldersbrunn who speak of spirits in the forest.

“Do not wander into the forest, little one,” mothers tell their children. “There are lost souls who will take you away.”

There are many names for these creatures: Ghost, ghoul, spirit, lost soul...banshee.

Like all legends, there is a lick of truth to the stories of the white-haired woman in the forest of Aldersbrunn. Sure, death appears to those who see her, but she only foretells death, she does not cause it.

Not that she is unhappy, seeing the fulfillment of her prophecies.

She was always a curious soul, though she remembers so little. Was she ever alive? Did she come from afar? Why did she die? How did she become what she is? Did she have a name?

She calls herself Moira, but knows not where she got that name.

All Moira knows is that she can feel death’s pull at those around her. It draws her to them. She does not understand their fear of death. She wants to understand.

But no matter how many times she watches the life leave someone’s eyes, she never learns what they fear, for she cannot experience it herself.

Afterall, how can the dead understand the living?

So when Moira felt a tugging towards the deepest depths of the forest, she felt no different than the many times she had before.

As the dying soul entered her vision, Moira did find her senses almost overwhelmed. It was as though Death himself was stood over the corpse. “A fighter. She’s struggling to live,” Moira thought as she stood metres away from the soul. But Moira froze as the aura of death vanished, and the strangely dressed woman stood suddenly, pointing a wooden staff directly towards Moira.

“Spirit!” the woman shouted with power. “I seek your power!”

Moira stood still. Only those who were dying could see her; she often wandered the streets of Aldersbrunn, and none had acknowledged her presence. And yet, this blonde-haired woman spoke to her.

“How can you see me?” Moira pondered aloud.

The woman gave a smirk. “Surely, spirit, you know of the magic of witches.”

Moira considered for a moment. Yes, she thought. She had seen posters in the town: Any found to be practicing witchcraft would be punished by banishment. “You were not dying? Why…”

“As I said spirit, I seek your power over death.”

“Why?” Moira asked the witch.

“The Lord of Aldersbrunn cast me out. I seek revenge.”

Moira was a curious soul. She wanted to know what this woman would do with power over death. This would be an experiment the Moira could not pass up to observe.

“Very well. Do you have a name, witch?”

The woman seemed to be taken back by Moira’s reponse. “Truely? You would agree, without even asking about a reward?”

“I am a banshee, a wandering spirit. What could you offer me? To observe would be reward enough.”

The witch watched Moira, waited for her to ask for more. She didn’t know exactly what a banshee could ask for, but she seemed suspicious that she would ask for nothing.

“I am Angela. Do you have a name?”

“Moira.”

“Then, Moira, you will lend me your power, and we will destroy everything the Lord of Aldersbrunn has built. Make him regret what he has done to me.”

 _This will be interesting_ , Moira thought.

* * *

Slowly, Angela learned how to use the power Moira leant her. First, she took to stealing life from the small creatures in the forest. Moira had never before tried her hand in bringing death, but she found it a most intriguing venture. She found it odd that she had this power, and seemed to know how exactly to use it, though she could not remember ever using it before. With one hand she would take life, and with the other give it. Where birds fell from the sky, flowers bloomed in their wake.

And as Angela learned to use this power through Moira, in return Moira learned of Angela’s past.

“Why would you become a witch, knowing that you would be banished?” She asked once.

“The Lord is a fool. As his wife lay dying, I offered to heal her, yet he refused me, told me that he would have no magic inside his walls.”

“You were a healer?” Moira asked. From all she knew of this woman, she seemed to want to know only of death.

“The greatest. The townsfolk would call me Mercy. An Angel. But they all turned once learned how I healed. Even my love told me to stop. To leave the magic behind.”

“Your love?”

“Yes. The Lord’s daughter in fact. We were lovers, and she too cast me out.” Angela’s expression was of remembrance.

“You would seek vengeance on them all?”

Angela’s expression shifted, and when she spoke, it was with authority. “No! No matter what we shall not harm Fareeha! I love her! And she loves me, I know it!”

“But…” Moira began, but was interrupted by Angela.

“No! Fareeha shall not be harmed!”

“...Very well.” Moira quietly relented.

 _She is a fool,_ Moira thought to herself however. _This, Fareeha, does not love you, Angela._

_You will learn._

* * *

Angela’s campaign against Aldesbrun began slowly. Angela cast a plague into the streets, inspired rats to spread illness, stole the life from the people’s crops. Each time, while the townspeople suffered, the Lord watched from his keep, as him and his family were seemly exempt.

“Why not simply kill this man?” Moira had asked.

“He stole everything from me. He must know that pain.”

Moira slipped her long arms around Angela. They had grown close over the months: who did they have but each other in those woods?

“You have me now. Do you need more than that?”

Angela relaxed into Moira’s touch, but her voice was solid. “I will have her back. My Fareeha.”

“Would she take you back, knowing what you have done? To her people, her father?”

“She will realize that I am right, in time.”

* * *

 

It all went wrong one night.

Angela had decided that it was time for more drastic measures. She would burn down the hospital. The Lord would know exactly who he had wronged when Angela’s House of Mercy would fall.

It was a crude plan, but as before, Moira went along with it.

But as the flames licked higher, Moira could feel it. The pull of death.

“Someone is in there.” Moira said, not with concern, but as a statement of fact.

Angela was horrified. “What?! There was no-one in there, I searched! I didn’t mean to…”

“He’s dying. He has little time left. Why do you care?”

“I did not seek to kill someone innocent! We must help him.”

Moira was incredulous. But she listened to Angela. “Very well.”

So Moira found the dying soul. And though she was sure it was too late, she aided Angela in pulling him from the flaming wreckages, as on the other side people struggled to put out the flames, and futilly prevent it from spreading.

“As I said, he had little time left, and now he is dead. What more do you want from me?”

“You have to heal him!” Angela screamed, voice raw with emotion.

“It is too late, Angela, let us leave before you are seen…”

Angela stood tall, threatening Moira with her staff. “I will heal him, and you will help me.”

 _You will regret this Angela,_ Moira thought, as she let loose the stolen life she had stolen from countless animals over the months.

And as the blackened corpse began to twitch, and shift, and rise, Angela did, seeing that the dark creature that stood before her was no longer the man she had known as a colleague at her hospital, but the husk of man. And, as Angela would learn, he was a killer of innocent people. A reaper of her own creation.

* * *

 

The Reaper wasn’t the only person to die that night, and when Angela and Moira entered the graveyard under cover of darkness, several new graves had just recently been filled. Most were simple wooden crosses, but Angela found herself drawn to the ornate new gravestone, amongst the section where lords and nobles had been buried for generations. Moira watched, as Angela crashed to her knees upon seeing the headstone.

**Fareeha, of Wilhelm and Amari**

**Beloved daughter, and friend to all**

“Why?” Angela quietly said.

“Presumably the fire…” Moira said, as though it were completely obvious. But Angela stared at Moira, and she realized that was not what Angela asked.

“Why did you kill her?”

“I did no such thing. If you recall, it was your idea to…”

“Why didn’t you tell me she was dying? Like you told me about Gabriel?”

“You cannot expect me to tell you each time someone dies? Look at all these other…”

“I told you she was not to be harmed! Why!?” Angela yelled, standing up and staring into her banshee’s mismatched eyes, fire in her own.

Moira gave a low chuckle and smirked. If she wanted the truth, the she would have it. “She didn’t love you. She cast you out, just like the others, so she deserves to be here just as much as them.”

Angela’s spirit cracked and crumbled before Moira’s eyes, and she watched smugly as Angela fell again to the earth, sobs rocking through her body.

“You told me you wanted power Angela.” Moira continued, looking down upon Angela’s weeping body. “Power over death. This is what you wanted, even if you didn’t know it. You need no one else but me. You will understand in time. Now come along, we still have much work to do.”

Moira began to walk away, when again she felt it. Like she had that night so many months ago. Had it been years? It was as though Death himself was stood right behind her. Moira turned, and saw Angela, standing unnaturally still, her head turned downwards, her clenched fist held near her neck. There was something in her hand, but Moira couldn’t…

“Spirit, surely you know the power of witches?” To Moira, it sounded as though Angela was all around her, from every side.

“Angela, what are you talking about? Enough of this nonsense, let’s go.”

Angela gave a dark smile, that sent shivers up Moira’s spine. Could Moira shiver? What was this sensation?

“Fareeha gave me this. Told me her mother had given it to her to ward off spirits.” Angela opened her hand to reveal a simple silver locket, with an odd pattern engraved on the front. Moira could not recognize it, but it made her feel...wrong.

“Angela, enough.”

“I understand now. I understand death. But somehow, I feel you do not.”

When Angela’s eyes met Moira’s, Moira felt something. But she did not know what it was. She tried to take a step back, but found she couldn’t; that pull of death, it would not let her leave.“What is this, Angela?! Answer me now!”

“I need no one but you, Moira.” Angela spoke from everywhere. Moira fell her chest pull, and she fell to her knees, desperately trying to fight against this unnatural strength.

“Angela!?!” Moira shouted.

“No one but you.”

“Angela!?!?!” Moira yelled.

“No one but you.”

“Angelaaaaaa?!?!?” Moira screamed, before being silenced. The only noise left was the small sound of wind, and the heavy breathing of Angela.

“And now,” Angela said quietly to herself after a moment, “it’s just you and I.”

In her hand, Angela stared at her locket. Inside was an artist's small rendition of her Fareeha’s face, but it was the pattern on the surface of the locket that interested her most. A strange pattern of lines.  If she tried, Angela could almost see a face in those lines: a woman’s face, with sharp features and strange shapes across it. And though there was no colour but silver, Angela could almost see two dots, one red, one blue, to mark the eyes.

The face of her spirit.

* * *

 

It is well known that the banshee’s scream foretells death. No one is exempt from it.

Not even wandering spirits.

**Author's Note:**

> -NotAWerewolf42, beta’d by nival_kenival
> 
> This story was inspired by Mizu7’s The Huntress, and the Banshee Moira & Witch Mercy skins.


End file.
